


Doffed

by kuonji



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: 5 Things, Character Study, Drama, F/M, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Hutch loses his dignity, his temper, his mind, but most of all -- his shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doffed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vedette Ciel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Vedette+Ciel).



> This one's for VC, who, [when I observed](http://community.livejournal.com/starskyhutch911/173333.html?thread=1314325#t1314325), "I seem to have a penchant for ripping Hutch's clothes off and having him hot and ashamed of it" replied with, "...hey, don't stop on my account. :D"
> 
> This story was nominated for an [Ollie Award](http://community.livejournal.com/sh911award_com) in 2010, category "Best Gen Story".
> 
> Alternative Links:  
> <http://starskyhutch911.livejournal.com/222496.html>

I.

The locker room was full at this hour, men getting off of work and ready to let off some steam. Hutch cursed himself for losing his nerve this morning. If he'd come at the time he usually did, he'd have had the place almost to himself.

He set his bag down in front of a quarter-locker, the half ones he preferred already all taken, and set about changing into his gym clothes. Just like any other day, he told himself. Never mind the fact it'd been nearly three weeks since he was here last -- long enough that Vinnie had given him a chastising look on the way in.

 _"Gotta keep in shape, for whatever it is you do,"_ he'd said, tapping his nose knowingly.

Hutch hadn't needed the reminder.

Vinnie was right, of course. A cop had to be prepared for anything. Dobey had given him two days to recuperate, but Hutch had been putting off his physical regimen for too long.

It was time to get over this stupid phobia of his.

It was getting too darn hot to jog in long sleeves.

Hutch pulled out his shorts and T-shirt. He decided to change out of his work jeans first. The ridiculousness of standing in shirtsleeves and exercise shorts helped propel his fingers to the buttons of his white shirt. They stumbled a little even so, as he pulled the shirt off.

There remained a part of him that was convinced that everyone was staring at him. The usual sideways glances that men exchanged -- envy, pity, sizing up -- all suddenly seemed to be directed at him only.

There was no way to hide the varied spread of faint discolored bruises across his torso. There was no way to adequately explain them. But even that was tolerable because they distracted from the marks inside of his left elbow.

Those were invisible by now, of course. Vinnie would never have let him in here otherwise; he kept a clean place. But they would always be there for Hutch.

It was like a parody of the Emperor's New Clothes: Only the guilty can see them...

"Hey, Blondie!"

Hutch jumped a mile. He reflexively crossed his arms. "Starsky, what are you doing here?"

"Stan had to cancel. Wanta grab some dinner?"

Hutch forced himself to put his arms down.

Starsky had cleaned him, coddled him, and babied him for two days while he'd been kicking the horse. He'd checked in on Hutch every evening since then, at first in person, now by phone -- never commenting on why, never implying distrust but only support. Starsky had seen the worst Hutch had to offer, and yet the friendship and respect in his manner had never dimmed.

If Hutch couldn't bare himself before his partner, whom could he ever bare himself to again?

"I haven't even started yet," he answered. "You'd have to wait."

"No problem. I came prepared." Starsky pulled out a Twinkie and ripped it open.

"Starsky, that stuff's pure sugar, fat, and preservatives," Hutch admonished, before he caught the gleam in his partner's eye that told him it'd been just the reaction he'd hoped for.

"A man's got to have his vices."

Hutch caught his breath. He studied Starsky's face, but Starsky just grinned, chewing with his mouth open -- solely to irritate him, no doubt.

He balled up his shirt and stuffed it in the locker.

"Save me a bite," he said.

 

II.

They'd started without him, and it looked like they'd picked up quite a few more bored officers on their lunch breaks. The court was hopping with sweat-stained shirts and glistening skin in motion.

Uh-oh. Hutch realized he was in trouble.

The teams were uneven -- five shirts to four skins, and there was Starsky on the shirts side, razzing Babcock, who was setting up for a shot.

He and Starsky were banned from playing on the same team. They unconsciously tended to work only with each other, which screwed up the team dynamics. And when they played two against two, they got complaints of unfairness.

Anyway, it boiled down to Hutch stripping down. Exactly what he'd been avoiding all day.

"Hutch, get over here! We're getting trounced!" called Reynolds.

"Don't go thinking it'll be any different with him in," Starsky rejoined.

Hutch hesitated. He had to try. "Hey, Starsk," he said, acting jovial. "Let's give them a chance. Why don't you join them instead?"

"Nuh-uh! Reynolds ain't gettin' off easy. Sorry, partner, you get the losers."

Various comments answered that.

"C'mon!" Starsky snapped his fingers. "Hurry up and show us that luscious bod of yours, so I can get started wiping the court with it."

There was no help for it. If he left now, it'd be unexplainably awkward. Resigned, Hutch pulled off his T-shirt.

Silence greeted him at first. Then the catcalls and whistles started. "Somebody had a wild night!" someone jeered. "Hutch, you sure you have the energy to play?"

"Holy shit, is that one her initial?" came the dreaded observation. Hutch fought the urge to cover up. He could feel his face going red to the eartips, and it sure was no sunburn.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Starsky stalked up to him and made a show of leaning down to peer closely at the set of marks just below his sternum. "I thought you went home with 'Tina' last night. Who's 'L'?"

Hutch gulped. "Um. Lori. Her, uh, her twin sister."

Stunned silence again. Then rueful laughter.

"Hutchinson, you are going _down_!" Hutch barely caught the ball aimed at his face.

He'd be hearing about this one for months, he knew.

 

III.

Bang.  _Bang_.  _BANG_.

Each shot was like a physical blow. There was no way in hell those were legal caliber rounds coming out of whatever Peterson was firing at them.

"Cover me!" Starsky yelled, and he dove for the dumpster a few yards down.

"Are you crazy?" Hutch yelled back, even as he lay efficient cover fire. "He can take your head off with one of those!"

_BANG!_

Starsky yelped and Hutch's heart nearly stopped, until he heard, "I'm not hit!"

"Stupid, daredevil, foolhardy, ...!" Hutch was still muttering to himself as he took advantage of Peterson's distraction. He peeked around the corner and squeezed off a well-aimed shot for once.  This time it was the perp who yelped, as chipped plaster sprayed against him, the bullet having just missed his head.

"You won't get me, coppers!"

What the hell was this, a bad 50's movie?

"Give it up, Peterson," Starsky called out. "The jig is up! We've gotcher surrounded. Come out with yer hands up!" He threw Hutch a grin from behind the cover of the dumpster.

Hutch rolled his eyes.

Surprisingly, though, Peterson seemed to take it at face value. "You-- You won't take me alive!"

"It's yer choice, buddy. Come out before we set the dogs on youse." Hutch wrinkled his nose at Starsky's atrocious accent.

"No! No dogs! I'll come out!" Hutch raised his eyebrows at Starsky. Starsky shrugged back.

"Okay, nice and slow now!"

With dewy eyes and a dejected manner, Peterson came out with his hands in the air. Hutch cuffed him quickly and read him his rights while Starsky went to call it in.

It wasn't until Hutch hauled Peterson to the car that he noticed the blood on Starsky's arm.

"What the _hell_? You said you weren't hit!"

"I wasn't!" Starsky protested, his right hand pressed tightly to the sluggishly bleeding wound.

Hutch shoved Peterson into the back seat and turned to his partner. "Then where'd this come from?" he demanded, as he unbuckled his holster. He yanked off his shirt and wrapped it around Starsky's forearm.

"I, uh, I cut it on the edge of some corrugated metal back there, when I first dove over."

Shaking his head, Hutch pulled the makeshift bandage tight. Starsky grunted in pain. "You call for someone to pick up Peterson? We need to get you to the hospital."

"It's not that bad."

"You call for someone?" he repeated, enunciating every syllable.

" _Yes_ , mother."

The wound had stopped seeping blood, and Hutch could feel his own blood pressure returning to normal. Hutch palmed Starsky's neck and gave it a short shake. "Next time, be more careful where you play, bozo."

 

IV.

"I just don't get it. This is the third time this week!" Starsky complained vociferously, as he wrung out his shirt.

"Third?"

"Yeah! First the sprinklers while we were chasing Marks, then yesterday at the movies, and now _this_. I must be cursed or something." He shook out the shirt and made a face.

Hutch shrugged, purposely unconcerned. "The sprinklers was last week, dummy. And don't tell me Becky didn't make it all up to you last night when you two went home early. I wish a pretty girl would spill her soda on me every time I went to see a movie."

"But I'd been waiting to see that one! And anyway, I meant this week as in the last seven days, not just since Sunday."

"If you count by the work week, starting today, this is only the first time this week," Hutch couldn't help but point out. Starsky gave him a dirty look.

"What I don't get is, how come you're dry as a bone?"

"Just quicker, I guess," he smirked.

"I could've been The Flash, and she'd still have gotten me. That elephant draws like a sharpshootin' cowboy."

The truth was, Hutch had seen Ellie perform this trick before on an earlier visit to the zoo, and he'd recognized her trainer, Reed's signal. He'd ducked to the side and managed to tackle Reed while he was distracted by Starsky's outraged spluttering at the trunkful of water squirted in his face.

"C'mon, Starsky, we got the bad guy and no animals were harmed in the process. Isn't that worth a few wet clothes?"

"If that's the way you feel, why don't we trade?" Starsky grumbled. He sneezed.

Hutch regarded him warily. "You're not going to get sick, are you?"

"I might," Starsky moaned fatalistically. "All those germs up Ellie's nose... I mighta contracted the elephant plague."

Hutch sighed and took off his jacket. "Here. Take it."

"Gee, thanks!" Starsky sounded way too happy for someone who was feeling unwell. But it was too late to rescind the offer. Hutch's jacket had been snapped out of his hand. "Ow..."

"Now what?"

"The zipper's scraping against my chest. I hate that."

"Ohhh, no!" Hutch held up a finger, knowing what was coming next. Sure enough, Starsky smiled sweetly at him.

"Sure'd be nice if I had a shirt to wear."

"Starsky--" he warned, to no avail.

"A nice, dry shirt... One that doesn't have elephant snot all over it." Starsky dangled the aforementioned shirt.

"Starsky!"

"Then maybe I wouldn't get sick. You know, from working so hard on this case while my partner was on vacation."

"I wasn't-- I was stuck on a mountain, for god's sake." Taking six thirteen-year-olds camping wasn't exactly relaxing to begin with, and a rockslide had knocked out the bridge back so that they'd had to spend two extra nights. Luckily, Molly at least had seemed to enjoy herself.

Still, it was true that Starsky had been stuck alone with their case load for two days.

"Fine, fine!" Hutch undid his holster, then pulled off his T-shirt. He handed it over. Starsky was gleeful.

After putting the shirt on and zipping the jacket back over it, Starsky grinned at him innocently. "Does this mean we're going steady?"

"I know I'm going steadily crazy," Hutch returned.

 

V.

Chirping birds had never sounded so much like drills to the head before. Hutch wanted to stuff his pillows in his ears, but it hurt too much to move. He decided it was best to lie still and breathe. Slowly.

The blare of the telephone shattered that notion.

Please, god, make it stop!

He fumbled for the phone, knocked the handset off the base, barely caught it by the cord, and finally managed to transport it to his ear. "'lo?"

"Morning, sunshine!" Hutch grit his teeth.

"Screw you." This was all Starsky's fault. Why hadn't he _stopped_ him? He knew Hutch couldn't handle too much liquor.

"What's the matter? Feeling your age?"

Hutch gave a less than complimentary reply.  
"All right, all right. I was just wondering if you're ready to go get your shirt back."

"My shirt...?"

"You put it down as collateral for another round. You don't remember?"

Hutch groaned. He wanted to say no, but he suddenly had a flashback -- pushing his shirt at the bartender, insisting to her that it was pure silk, spun gold, something, and drunkenly coaxing her to give him and his friends another round, because it was his fortieth birthday, for goodness sake, have a heart!

"She actually took it?"

"She wasn't going to. But you kept insisting. Huggy said if we didn't pay our tab by opening time today he's gonna auction it off."

"Auction...!" Hutch checked his bedside clock. They had barely forty-five minutes to get over to the Pits. "Who'd want it, anyhow," he wondered out loud, as his mind gradually began to clear.

His partner whistled, the sound piercing even over the phone line. "If you'd a seen the way those ladies were lookin' at you dance shirtless, you wouldn't be asking."

"Dancing? Oh, no." Another flashback assailed him. "Did-- Did I get on the table?"

"You do remember! Hey, bad news, partner. Huggy said he'd hold the shirt, but the pants are worth too much. I don't think you'll get 'em back."

"What?!" Hutch looked wildly around his room.

His eyes caught on the pair of jeans he'd worn last night, thrown over the dividing screen, at the same time as Starsky's guffaws rolled through the line.

"Starsky!!"

  
  
END.  


**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:  
>      [Ollie](http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/21572.html) (Starsky & Hutch), by kuonji  
>      [Don't Quit Your Day Job](http://community.livejournal.com/starskyhutch911/154499.html) (Starsky & Hutch), by kuonji  
>      [It's Like That One Song](http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/20025.html) (Stargate SG-1), by kuonji  
>      [Dirty Cop](http://sites.google.com/site/alliesfanfiction/dirty-cop) (Starsky & Hutch), by Allie  
> 


End file.
